


Daylight

by Witches_Pen



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Coming of Age, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Inspired by Taylor Swift, Romance, Slow Burn, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witches_Pen/pseuds/Witches_Pen
Summary: How do you move on after the war you’ve been fighting for almost your whole life is won? How do you keep going when winning it took your innocence? George and Hermione don’t know. George is just trying to make it through one day at a time, after the loss of his twin. Hermione is struggling to decide what she wants to do with the rest of her life.Trying to claw their way out of the darkness they’ve found themselves consumed in since the Battle of Hogwarts, the only way they’ll find daylight is together.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/George Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is really just one long author's note to explain the story.

George/Hermione is one of my all-time favorite non-canon ships (after Dramione), and there really aren’t many good quality fics about the two of them (I’m open to recommendations if you’ve got them). I’m not the world’s best writer (not by a long shot) but I’m gonna try and put in a lot of effort into this so I can contribute something decent to the ship. 

The story is inspired a lot by Taylor Swift songs (because I’m almost as obsessed with her as I am with Harry Potter). I saw a Dramione fic on Wattpad (A Cruel and Beautiful World uploaded by hpfanfictionaddict and written by Lena Phoria) that did something similar but with Beetles songs. A lot of the chapters were named after Beetles songs. I haven’t read the fic yet, so I’m not sure if that author included the songs in more ways than just as the title, but that’s what I’m planning to do here. 

The story is named for Taylor’s song Daylight, off of the Lover Album. I think it’s the perfect inspiration for a story about the kinds of healing that George and Hermione are going to have to go through after the war. I’ll end with a quote from the song: 

“I’ve been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night,  
And now I see Daylight,  
I only see Daylight.  
…  
I once believed love would be burnin’ red,  
But it’s golden,  
Like daylight.”


	2. My Tears Richocet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter’s Taylor Swift song is “My Tears Ricochet” off of her album folklore. It seemed fitting for a funeral, and the sad days that would have followed the Battle of Hogwarts. I’ll leave you with some lyrics of the song: 
> 
> “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace,   
> Cause when I’d fight, you used to tell me I was brave,   
> And if I’m dead to you why are you at the wake?  
> Cursing my name,  
> Wishing I stayed,  
> Look at how my tears ricochet.”

It had rained every day since the Battle of Hogwarts, as if the skies mirrored the feelings of the entire British wizarding community. It was as if every tear shed for lost loved ones and lost innocence were pouring down upon the small crowd gathered inside the tiny, winding cemetery in the town of Ottery St. Catchpole. The crowd formed a half moon shape around a freshly dug grave. 

A short, plump woman with golden red hair stood at the center. Her black cloak fought off the rain drops that were waging war on the mourners. In her hands she held a sheet of paper, slowly being consumed by water, which held all of her dearest memories of an impish boy with flaming red hair and a devilish smile. She spoke the memories quietly, but with conviction, as if she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t cry. 

Some of the mourners had faces full of tears, others of somber sobriety. The heavy bleakness would be broken with the occasional recollection of a particularly funny prank played by the impish boy. The serious faces flashing occasionally with a shadow of the devilish smile the boy in the ground held. To the right of the reading woman stood a sturdy man with short red hair, an unshaven face, blue eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over, and only one ear with which to hear the woman’s recollections. 

This boy—no, this man—looked remarkably like the boy in the ground. But any keen observer would be able to spot the small differences. The twins used to look virtually indistinguishable. They almost always held the same devilish smile, planning for one of their elaborate pranks. They also both used to have the correct number of appendages. But the war had taken things from everyone. From George, the boy standing next to his mother who still spoke, it took an ear, his smile, and half of his soul. From the boy in the ground, it took his life. 

The crowd thought of Fred Weasley as his mother spoke. The boy in the ground. The boy who died laughing. He would be missed by all, but by none more than his brother, George. Everyone in half moon circle would carry Fred Weasley’s memory with them. Only George would be haunted by it. 

As Molly Weasley finished speaking, the members of the crowd bent down to pick up handfuls of earth. One by one, down the crowd, mourners released handfuls of earth to fill the hole in the ground. The earth blanketed the boy in the ground. 

“Mum?” A tall, fair girl with hair like fire spoke softly to Molly Weasley. “Should we go back to the Burrow and get lunch started?” 

Molly smiled softly at her daughter and nodded in response. The mourners filed out of the winding cemetery to make their way through the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, and up a hill that lead to the Weasley family home. Among the mourners were the six remaining Weasley children. Bill Weasley walked at the head of the group, his blonde wife Fleur Weasley, holding onto his arm and sniffling lightly. Following him was Percy Weasley, walking silently in step with his older brother Charlie. They made their way through town without exchanging words. Then came Ron, flanked by his two best friends Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. The two non-Weasley members of the golden trio tried to radiate strength to their ginger best friend as they walked beside him. Then came George, holding so tightly to the hand of his baby sister, Ginny, that she thought her hand might break under his grief. Arthur and Molly Weasley followed their children, with the patriarch’s arm swung protectively around his wife’s shaking frame.

The closest of friends had attended the funeral. They followed the Weasley family, winding out of the cemetery. Minerva McGonagall, member of the Order of the Phoenix and newly appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, lead the way. Also among the mourners were Kingsley Shacklebolt, member of the Order and newly elected Minister for Magic; Lee Jordan, best friend of Fred and George Weasley; Oliver Wood, friend and former Quidditch captain of Fred Weasley; Alicia Spinnet, friend and former teammate of Fred Weasley; Angelina Johnson, former teammate and girlfriend of Fred Weasley; Luna Lovegood, friend of the family and former DA member; Neville Longbottom, friend of the family and former DA member; and finally, Andromeda Tonks, member of the Order of the Phoenix, and in her arms sat her grandson Teddy. 

When the mourners reached the burrow they quickly fell into action. Ginny Weasley took charge, so her mother could sit with Arthur and George. She, Hermione, and Luna fixed up a buffet of sandwiches, chips, and butterbeer for the crowd to enjoy as they regaled stories of the fallen Weasley.

Oliver Wood began. Butterbeer in his hand, he stood in the shabby, but cozy, sitting room of the Weasley’s family home. He told the mourners of the first quidditch match Fred Weasley had played in for the Gryffindor team. He and George had taken it upon themselves to put itching powder in the quidditch robes of the Slytherin team the night before the match. The Slytherins spent the whole match rubbing themselves against one another, the stands, and the goalposts just to relieve the itching. One particularly stupid beater had hit the bludger at himself just to get an extremely itchy spot he couldn’t reach. 

Angelina told the story of her first date to the Yule Ball with Fred during their sixth year. Even though he spent most of the Ball conspiring with George to find a way to spike the unspikable punch with firewhisky, he still found time enough to whisk her off her feet into a dance. They’d spun one another late into the night, being one of the last couples to leave the dance floor. Angelina finished her story saying, “Fred just wanted to see people smile. Sometimes he needed to pull a prank to do it. Sometimes he just needed to be himself. He always made me smile.”

Bill told a story about three-year-old Fred pulling his first prank on Percy, who was five at the time. Percy was a particularly anal five-year-old, and Fred had taken it upon himself to lighten him up a bit. He’d somehow found a way to charm Percy’s books so that the characters in every picture stuck their tongues out at Percy when he tried to read them. “We never did figure out how to change those pictures back.” Bill laughed. 

After most of the mourners had spoken about Fred, Harry Potter stood up. “Fred Weasley was the first big brother I ever had. If it weren’t for him, George, and Ron, I might not have been able to come back to Hogwarts for my second year. They broke me out of my Aunt and Uncle’s house after they’d put bars on my windows and forbidden me from seeing any of my friends. Fred helped save me, and that’s what brothers do.” Harry raised the glass of firewhisky in his hand, “to Fred Weasley, the best friend, brother, and son any of us have ever known.” The crowd took big gulps of the burning liquid to subside the tears that had filled many of their eyes after Harry’s touching speech. 

People started filing out slowly after the speeches had ended and smaller groups had formed. Minerva and Kingsley were the first to leave, after thanking Arthur and Molly and wishing them the best. Andromeda followed shortly afterwards, as she needed to get her blue haired grandson, Teddy, to bed. Oliver, Alicia, and Angelina left after Andromeda. Tearful goodbyes and talks of running down to the only pub in Ottery St. Catchpole for more drinks were heard as they left. 

The Weasleys, Hermione, Harry, Neville, and Luna were left. Each cradling a glass of firewhiskey, their movements becoming freer with every sip. 

“I hate to say it in front of you lot, but if I’d ever say it, today would be the day…” Ginny rambled on, her face flush with the warmth of the firewhiskey. “Fred was my favorite brother for a long time. Not anymore, mind you,” she nodded briefly to all of her brothers as they stared back at her. “But when I was little, he was always the one most willing to play with me or do anything I asked…” 

“He doted on you, alright.” Molly responded, looking into the distance as she tried to recall the image of her two children when they were younger, “Whenever I couldn’t find that boy you could be sure it was because he and George were off planning some prank against Ron or Percy—usually Percy—or because he was catering to your every whim…” Molly trailed off tearfully. 

The mourners were silent for a moment as Mrs. Weasley gained her composure. 

“Well,” George broke his silence, saying the first thing he’d said since they had returned to the burrow after the funeral, “Gin, if it makes you feel any better, you were Fred’s favorite sister.” 

If this had been a normal day, a day where he hadn’t just buried half of himself, the family would think George had been cracking a joke. Ginny was Fred’s only sister, after all. But George hadn’t cracked a joke since Fred died. To joke, you’d have to talk. And George wasn’t doing much of that either, these days. The Battle of Hogwarts had been over for ten days. And in those ten days only three things were certain. One, the rain would persist. Two, there would always be a funeral to go to. And three, George Weasley wouldn’t say anything more than absolutely necessary. 

After what felt like hours of the Weasley family staring at him, a light, bell-like laugh broke the silence. Hermione Granger hiccupped “That’s funny, George. Because she’s your only sister.” Everyone looked at Hermione as if she’d finally broken. Looking around at the family she said “What? Don’t you get it? She’s his only sister so she has to be his favorite…” she trailed off, hiccupped again, and took another sip of her firewhiskey. 

The ghost of a smile grazed George’s lips and he said, “Thanks, Hermione, it’s nice that someone in this family appreciates my humor.” 

Ron dropped the empty glass he was holding, and it landed with a thump at his feet. His mouth hung open as he gaped at George. The rest of the Weasley clan didn’t look much different. The friends of the family all exchanged wary glances. Except for Hermione. Still cradling her drink, she looked at George intently. Something inside her had warmed when George smiled—well, almost smiled—but if she were honest with herself, it was likely the copious amount of firewhiskey rushing through her system. Hermione had never had a particularly high tolerance for the stuff, and after a whole year of being on the run, living off of what she could forage in the forrest, and not drinking, it hadn’t gotten better. 

Attempting to break the awkward silence that had fallen over the group, Neville stood up. “Mrs. Weasley, can we do anything to help you clean up?” 

Molly checked the time and realized it was a quarter past midnight. “Oh dear! Look at the time! We ought to be getting off to bed…” The group cleaned up the house and Molly and Arthur retired to their bedroom upstairs. Bill and Fleur followed shortly after. The rest of the group found themselves unable to end the day quite yet. Neville, Luna and Charlie sat on the couch in the sitting room and discussed Charlies work with Dragons in Romania. Luna asked him if he’d encountered any dragon pixies? Ron and Harry reminisced about their favorite pranks the twins had played at Hogwarts, sitting in the corner chairs in the sitting room. George sat at the kitchen table listening to the rumbles of conversation in the other room. Hermione leaned against the counter after refreshing her glass of firewhiskey. She looked at the back of George’s head. 

“Got something you’d like to say, Granger?” George asked and Hermione started, not having expected him to notice her standing there. She wandered over to him, noticing that the edges of the room were a bit fuzzy and making a mental note to ask Luna if nargles could cause that? Hermione slid into the chair opposite him at the kitchen table. 

“How are you, George?” she asked. This was the first time anyone had asked him that. Most people asked him “are you okay” or a variance on that question, which George hated. It was such a leading question. When people asked that, they clearly wanted him to say “yes” or something similar, so that they could avoid having an honest conversation. Hermione looked at him, but not expectantly. She knew it wouldn’t be an easy question to answer. It hadn’t been an easy question to ask. 

“I’m…” George thought some more. He wanted to say “I’m okay” but he wasn’t. He wanted to say “terrible, thanks for asking” but that wasn’t it either. “The truth is, Hermione, I’m not sure how I am.” 

Hermione nodded vigorously, as if she understood completely. They fell into a comfortable silence before George asked, “How are you, Hermione?” Hermione took a deep breath while staring into her glass, swirling the amber liquid around a few times. Pursing her lips, she prepared to answer his question. 

“I’m not quite sure, either. I mean, I’m sad because of all of the people we lost to the Battle. Fred, Tonks, Remus, Lavender…” she trailed off, unable to name all of the good men and women who had died ten days earlier. “And I feel guilty for surviving them. The truth is, I never expected to live through the war. But I’m also happy that I’m alive, and that we won. But I can’t fully enjoy that happiness because I’m still so sad and guilty. And did you know Kingsley asked the three of us if we wanted to join the Auror program straight away? I’ve never really thought about the future after the War. I never let myself.” Hermione spewed all of these thoughts swirling in her head one after the other, and when she was done, she looked like she was a little shocked at herself for admitting them. George gave her a moment to gather her thoughts. 

“No one has ever asked me that either.” She said, looking up from her glass, meeting his ocean eyes. 

“Maybe it’s time we all start.” George responded, staring back with an intensity Hermione wasn’t used to from either half of the prankster twins. 

They sat in silence, staring at one another for what could have been moments or hours, neither was certain. A stumbling behind Hermione broke their focus, and they turned to the sitting room doorway to see Luna and Neville stumble in. “We came to say goodnight,” Luna said in her airy tone. 

“And possibly goodbye, considering the power of the rain coming down outside. I’d be surprised if we don’t wash straight away with it.” Neville quipped. 

“Oh Neville,” Luna chastised, “don’t complain about the rain. It’s symbolic.”

“Symbolic? Luna, weather can’t know the state of the wizarding world.” Neville responded. 

“Of course not, but thousands of wizards grieving all at once? It’s responding to that magic. Love is the most powerful form of magic, afterall.” Luna said, matter-of -fact-ly. Neville chose not to respond. It was just another one of Luna’s theories, like the Nargles. The two friends left with a brief farewell, plunging into the raging darkness outside of the burrow. 

“I know Luna is crazy and all, but there are moments in the day where I think I might even believe her.” George almost whispered his confession. “The rain … sometimes I’ll taste it, accidentally, and I swear I taste the tiniest hint of salt—like tears. Like they’re tears ricocheting off of me, not water like it’s supposed to be.” 

“The past ten days, and even the years before, have been like walking through the woods in the dark. There are days when I feel like we’ll never see day daylight again.” Hermione responded. 

Ginny swung around the sitting room doorway, her hands resting on the arch as she leaned into the kitchen to fetch Hermione, “before we drink enough to regret living through the night once morning hits.” This type of dark humor had been the closest any of the Weasley’s had gotten to cracking a joke since Fred died. 

“Coming, Gin.” Hermione promised as she stood up, swaying slightly. With a last quick sip, she finished off her drink and turned to face George, “g’night, George.” George watched Hermione leave. He wondered if the rain would ever stop. He wondered if he’d ever feel daylight as warm as it was before the Battle. And mostly, he wondered where Fred was now, and if he was okay.


	3. Hard Time Adjusting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Taylor’s new documentary on Netflix (which came out literally the day I began writing this chapter) she says that when she wrote “this is me trying” she was thinking about the idea of how high school students have this clear path to getting “gold stars” but that goes away eventually.  
> This was just so clearly Hermione, to me. She spent her time at school trying to prove herself, to earn gold stars, through her grades. Plus, she had this overarching war she was fighting in the background of her school days. And now school is gone, the war is won, so what’s next for her? I don’t think she would know.  
> And that’s a lot of what this story is about, figuring out what’s next after this huge, traumatizing, life-changing event. How do you move on?  
> This chapter is named for the specific quote from "this is me trying":
> 
> “I’ve been having a hard time adjusting,  
> I had the shiniest wheels now they’re rusting”
> 
> (future chapters will also be named for this song because there's just too much there not to use it to inspire more than one chapter)

The rest of the funerals after Fred’s passed Hermione by like a flurry of leaves in the wind. The last funerals Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys attended were those of Tonks and Remus. The rain that had plagued greater British wizarding community since the Battle of Hogwarts was present at both funerals which were held back to back on the same day. Andromeda, as the only living adult family of either Tonks or Remus, gave both eulogies. They were short, but powerful. Throughout the services Harry held Teddy. He spent the services squirming and sobbing, his normally bright blue hair a dull mousy brown. Though Hermione was certain the boy could not know, logically, that the two people they’d buried were his parents, she believed he must have somehow recognized that his life would never be the same as it could have been. 

Tonks’ and Remus’ funerals were, Hermione believed, almost harder than Fred’s to get through without crying. It was particularly difficult for her to watch Teddy scream and cry for the loss of parents he would never really know. She wondered if Harry had been present at his parents’ funeral. She wondered if he had been, had he known in some subconscious way that those were his parents being buried, too? The image of two people entered her mind. A man with a severe but kind face, deep chestnut hair peppered with grey, and a woman with big curly light brown hair and kind cinnamon eyes, smiled at her from her subconscious. She pushed them down. She wouldn’t think about them. The funeral alone was hard enough to endure without shedding the tears she was so desperately holding in. 

Hermione wouldn’t cry. Not in public, anyway, with the eyes of the entire wizarding world on the golden girl. The brightest witch of her age was bright enough to know that any tear she spilt outside of the privacy of her nighttime bed would likely be the next big headline for the Daily Prophet. She could see it now, a large picture of her just under the paper’s name, The Daily Prophet, swaying slightly next to the graves of her friends as she cried silently. It would have some kind of ridiculous headline like, “Golden Girl: where’s that Gryffindor bravery hiding?” or something of the sort. The paper, in Hermione’s opinion, was nothing short of one long gossip column masquerading as real journalism. 

It might sound conceded to most, that Hermione would think a few tears of hers would be front page worthy, but the Daily Prophet had printed a story over less. Over the month that had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, almost no Daily Prophet printed without at least one member of the golden trio gracing the front page. Hermione couldn’t stop them from writing stories, but she could stop herself from giving them any additional material which they could write about. Hermione wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her weakness, her pain, or her scars. Her vulnerabilities spread out on the front page of that rubbish for the entire wizarding world to witness was the last thing she needed right now. 

After Hermione, Harry, and the Weasleys left Tonks and Remus’ funeral, they went to the Burrow for Sunday dinner. It had become somewhat of an unspoken agreement that every Sunday since the Battle, each living Weasley, plus Harry and Hermione, would return to the Burrow on Sundays for dinner, in order to spend time together. Even Charlie port-keyed back from Romania every week after he’d gone back to work at the Dragon sanctuary, though most of the Sunday night dinner participants weren’t commuting that far. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and George had all been living at the Burrow. 

After the food was prepared, and placed family style at the center of the table, the Weasleys and Harry and Hermione began making their way to their seats. As the Sunday night dinner members sat down at the magically lengthened kitchen table light conversation began between different groups around the table. Harry nudged Ron in the side with his elbow and sent him a knowing look. Taking the hint, Ron tentatively announced, “Hey, everyone I have a bit of news,” as the group quieted down in order to hear Ron he began, “Harry and I have … erm, well we’ve decided to take Kingsley up on his offer to start the Auror training program right away instead of going back to redo our NEWT level courses.” The last bit of his announcement came out in sort of a garbled fast clump of words, but the other people at the table all got the gist. The Weasleys greeted the news, mostly, with a round of congratulations. Mrs. Weasley sniffed and noticeably stayed silent. She had been a vocal advocate for the trio’s option of returning to Hogwarts to finish their NEWT courses. 

“At least one of you three has the sense to return to complete your education,” Mrs. Weasley replied, “congratulations, Hermione. Maybe you and Ginny will even get to be roommates now.” She sent a soft smile towards the younger witch. 

The table turned to look at Hermione. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and responded shyly, “er, well Mrs. Weasley, it is true I decided not to join the Auror training program—I feel like I’ve seen enough battles to last a lifetime—but I don’t think I’m going back to Hogwarts either…” She ended her confession by looking down at her plate, using her fork to move the food around, but not taking any bites. 

The table all but erupted after the news that Hermione, who had always been such a dedicated and talented student, would not be returning to Hogwarts to complete her education. Harry and Ron exchanged confused glances. The table heard several responses at once after Hermione’s admission.

“But why not, dear!” Came from Mrs. Weasley. 

“Bu ‘ermione, ‘e thought you ‘ere gonna go back?” Ron responded, fighting to get the words out over the large mouthful of food he had. Harry added, “What he said!”

“Well what are you going to do then, if you’re not going to be an Auror and you’re not going to go back to Hogwarts?” Ginny asked, reasonably. 

Hermione paused for a beat to collect her thoughts, and find an eloquent way to express them, before she answered. Addressing all of the questions at once she began, “well, I’m not going to do the Auror program because I’m tired of fighting. We’ve been fighting for years and I just don’t think I can do it anymore. I don’t think I want to do it anymore. But there are other job offers too, other things I can do without having to go back to get my NEWTs. I just … need to figure out what it is that I want to do.” 

Hermione hadn’t lied, she was sick of fighting, and there were other jobs, but she hadn’t totally told the full truth either. The truth of the matter was, that going back to school seemed trivial, compared to what Hermione had witnessed over the past year. She’d spent her whole childhood studying, being the resident bookworm, the know-it-all. She’d gotten every gold star there was to get in school. But what would those things have mattered to anyone if things had turned out differently, and she’d died in the war? Her stomach churned and bubbled at the thought of having to sit through another DADA class, knowing now what she did. Or another Potions class, thinking of how she’d watched the life drain out of her former Potions professor, Snape. At that thought, Hermione suffered an onslaught of many of the horrible images that had been plaguing her mind since the Battle had been won. They came in flashes. 

_She stumbled through the tunnel under the whomping willow … she saw Voldemort’s giant snake strike once, twice, three times … there was blood everywhere … life was seeping from the wounds in Snapes neck …_

_She was screaming … a searing pain in her left arm made her writhe … she wished she was dead, rather than endure the pain … her chest clenched with fear … she was sure she would die on the cold dark floor …_

_She screamed as she saw her roommate of 6 years under the animal that had almost touched her the same way … “NO” ripped from her throught like a freight train as she blew the monster off of Lavender. The girl’s cold, dead, dark eyes stared unseeing…_

_She picked through rubble to find the body of Colin Creevey, once so small—somehow even smaller in death…Harry held her back, both sobbing silently, as they stood, feet away from the Weasleys as they crowded, sobbing, around the fallen red head … The hands of her former DADA teacher, Remus, and her friend, Tonks, were inches apart as if they were reaching out to one another in death …_

Hermione wasn’t able to control when the images came. They would come when they wanted, pushing their way into her conscious thoughts. The images came like a sort of wave which Hermione was forced to ride down, down, down as her thoughts spiraled into darker places and ever worse images. Some days she thought it was like pulling the thread of a sweater, it would unwind endlessly if she let it. She’d held it together—just barely—until after they’d won the Battle. Hermione supposed the reason for the time of her unraveling was the fight or flight instinct that came with constantly being under threat of a lethal act had finally left. But now that all her senses weren’t solely devoted to keeping her alive, they seemed to betray her. She’d been having a hard time adjusting since the Battle of Hogwarts. 

Hermione felt the cool metal of a fork under her palm. Slowly, she heard whispers around her turn into words she could make out. She pulled on the little bits of reality she could sense, until she’d found her way fully out of the spiral she’d been falling through. When Hermione was finally able to push back the thoughts that threatened to overcome her, she found she was still sitting at the Weasley’s kitchen table. Light chattering could be heard around her. Everyone seemed to have moved on from her. Everyone except a very quiet George, who sat directly across from her. Hermione loosened the grip she had on her fork and lifted her head from where it had been angled at her plate. Her warm, brown eyes met deep blue ones. George’s gaze was piercing as he searched her eyes for answers to where Hermione had just gone. Hermione wrenched her gaze from George’s, breaking the eye contact that threatened to expose her and she turned to Ginny, who sat to her right. 

“So, Gin,” Hermione began, “what do you think you’ll do with the rest of your Summer before you go back to school?” She finished her question, and stared at the youngest Weasley, perhaps more intently than she would have if she weren’t trying to avoid that piercing blue gaze she’d met only moments ago.

Ginny finished chewing the bite of food she’d just taken, swallowed, then responded to her friend. “I’m not sure yet, probably start practicing for the quidditch season for sure. I’m a bit rusty since we didn’t have it last year because … well, you know. Usually I help out George and—” Ginny coughed to cover up her mistake, “—at the shop on breaks to keep busy but, well it’s still closed so …” she trailed off. 

Mrs. Weasley, who sat to Ginny’s right at the head of the table, heard her daughter and turned to George. “George dear,” she began cautiously, speaking like she was afraid to wake a sleeping person, “have you begun to think about whether you’ll open the shop back up?” 

George started a bit at the question. He took a deep breath before he responded to his mother, “I think … well I’d like to before Hogwarts begins again in September. But I haven’t been back since we closed the shop when …” George trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. He caught himself and began again, “Well anyway, I’m not sure what the shop looks like now, so I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get it done by then. Verity left the country and Fred … so now it’s just me to get things going again. It’s a lot of work for one person in such a short amount of time.” 

Ginny’s eyes brightened at her brother’s revelation, “Oh George!” she began excitedly, “I didn’t know you wanted to open the shop this Summer or I’d have volunteered to help earlier! Hermione can help too since she’s not starting Auror training in two weeks with Harry and Ron.” Ginny’s eyes sparkled at the thought of a Summer spent at the joke shop instead of at the Burrow, with her mother inevitably hovering over her as she’d done for the past month after the Battle. 

“You’ll help, won’t you, Hermione?” Ginny asked, spinning to look at Hermione expectantly.

George seemed initially surprised at his sister’s enthusiasm. He accepted it, however, and turned to the bushy haired witch next to Ginny. “Do you want to help, Hermione? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

Blinking her eyes, Hermione showed her surprise at the proposition. She took a moment to consider it. It was true that Hermione didn’t have much else to spend her summer doing. As Ginny had said, she wouldn’t be starting Auror training with Ron and Harry in two weeks. And since she wasn’t going back to Hogwarts this year, she didn’t have to begin preparing for the Fall term like she usually would. Hermione supposed she should begin considering the other job offers that had poured in, but she was too tempted by the idea of pushing off such a big decision. Especially since it was in favor of helping a friend. 

Drawing in a breath she replied, “Yes, I could help you too, George.” George stared at Hermione before giving her a small nod of acceptance. “Oh Hermione!” Ginny threw her arms around her best friend, “We’re gonna have so much fun!”

“Y’know ‘eorge,” Ron addressed his brother as he ate, “’arry and I could ‘elp before training starts.” Ron always seemed to be eating as he spoke during meals. 

“We definitely can.” Harry nodded in affirmation of his friend’s suggestion. 

The ghost of a smile haunted George’s lips when he said, “Thank you, everyone. I supposed there’s no use in putting it off anymore. We could start tomorrow if you all want?” The group all agreed they’d begin on Monday at 10 AM, and the chatter at the table rose as the Weasleys and Harry and Hermione went back to their side conversations. 

Ginny began talking to Hermione about her final year at Hogwarts, if she’d be made Gryffindor quidditch captain this year, and if she were made quidditch captain what kinds of things she’d like to do for the team. Hermione listened half-heartedly as she finished her meal, having never been a huge fan of the sport. As Ginny spoke, she stole a glance across the table at George, who appeared to be only half-listening to Percy’s report on the changes the Ministry of Magic had been implementing since the War. 

“—and _of course_ Kingsley has been made Minister for Magic and as I work in the Minister’s office, he’s really been _relying_ –” Percy rambled on as Hermione studied George. He seemed to have aged a lot in the past month. The red hair that George had worn slightly long at the Battle due to the months he’d been on the run was cut short, showing off the ear—or lack thereof—that Snape had cursed almost a year ago. His face sported the beginnings of a beard, too, as if George hadn’t shaved for several weeks. Hermione considered the changes to George’s appearance. He looked much different than the George she’d known for the past seven years. He looked older. She supposed that was inevitable, after everything they’d been through. 

“—Hermione are you listening?” Hermione’s head snapped back to looking at the witch next to her. “Of course, Gin.” She sent her friend a small smile. 

“I was saying I’m going to send an owl to Neville and Luna and ask if they want to meet us for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron after we leave the shop tomorrow afternoon. How’s that sound?” 

“Sounds great, Gin.” 

The rest of the meal passed in relative peace. The conversation died down and the Weasleys finished their meal. Bill, Fleur and Charlie all left shortly after they finished their meal, thanking their mother for the lovely dinner, as always. Hermione retired to the room she shared with Ginny. As she ascended the stairs, she thought about the news shared at tonight’s dinner table. She tried to feel as though she’d be missing something by not going back to Hogwarts, or by not joining Harry and Ron at Auror training, but her attempts were futile. She couldn’t bring herself to care about the things she did before the War, like school or her future career. On days like this, Hermione believed she might be the only one of her friends who was having a hard time adjusting to life after the Battle.


End file.
